


Rest Easy, My Warden

by GaHoolianGirl



Series: A Warden and his Assassin [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Everyone else is only mentioned in passing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4875790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaHoolianGirl/pseuds/GaHoolianGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being one of the sole surviving Grey Wardens of a country facing a Blight was never going to be an easy job, Gideon Cousland knew, but a heart-to-heart with Zevran demonstarates the real price he's paid, and it's rewards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest Easy, My Warden

**Author's Note:**

> A standard "night before the big battle" scenario. They're on their way from Redcliffe to Denerim, obviously.

"We rest only one night here," Gideon announced, a firmness hidden in his weary tone, a gentle reminder that no matter how much they deserved rest, they were allowed none. A Blight waited for no one, and they were not going to disappoint what had ruled their lives for nearly a year.

Gideon's shoulders hung low, as if being pulled down by the force of exhaustion no matter how straight he tried to stand to reassure his comrades. His eyes sank into his head and were shaded by the bags of constant battle and command. He commanded an elite group- made up of nearly all of what society rejected. A mage, an apostate mage, a drunken dwarf, a royal bastard, a bard of Orlaisan origins, a qunari, a independently-minded golem and a flirtatious elf. Him and his dog, Jak, stood at their helm, remnants of what Ferelden was before the Blight, of noblity and naivety.

He watched most of the others retreat to their tents, slowly trickling away like a small stream on a hot day, all their heads full of imaginings of a battle only slightly more horrid than what they would truly face, all of them frightened in their own way, regardless of how reluctant they were to show it (his eyes wandered to where Morrigan, then Wynne, slept).

He would not be joining them, he knew. Too must unrest broiled in his mind, of all his regrets, every decision he made, everything he could have done better. Every action that could have saved a life.

Soon at that was left was him, his dog, and Zevran. The elf looked as in desperate need for rest as everyone else, yet remained standing, unmoving, and his gaze trained like an arrow at Gideon.

"Zevran? Why not rest? I know you need it," the human said, concern dripping from every word. The assassin shook his head.

"What of you? Are you not going to rest either? My dear Warden, you deserve it most yet I know you will not," the Antivan crossed his arms, "If you are not, then I shall not."

The Grey Warden's eyebrows went up. "Zevran..."

"Do not act like you are not weary. Do not hide from us. We do not need a leader who falls asleep on the battlefield," Zevran approached him, his normally sultry walk brisk and with purpose. He placed a hand upon his chest, a hand protected by a Dalish glove, "I do not need a lover who dies at the hands of darkspawn because he does not rest when given the opportunity."

Gideon's hand encased the smaller one, pressing it tighter against his chest, "I expect a promise of the same if I'm to give mine, Zevran. I didn't go through all the trouble of being in a relationship despite claiming I would never just for you to die."

The elf _tsk_ ed, but it was a playful noise, "So selfish, my dear Gideon. However, if you need me, I shant die. How can one refuse such a plea? It is a wonder I did not fall for you sooner!"

The ex-noble chuckled, full and deep, raspy from days of shouting commands, "Perhaps you did and didn't know?" His laugh pittered out, and he reached his free hand up to the assassin's face, cupping his cheek with a tenderness that caused a warmth to permeate throuh Zevran's chest, "In all seriousness, thank you. I doubt anyone else could make me smile in such a situation."

"See? It was as I said those many days ago, my Warden. I knew I would be useful!"

They stood unmoving for a moment, gazes falling onto each other's like puzzle tiles. "Care to join me in my tent?" his usual phrase of invitation much more innocent than it's normal connotation. They proceeded to the Warden's tent, removing their armor and laying on the furs (many of which are the surprisingly comfortable werewolf pelts) where they would rest until the mabari that guarded them started howling at the first glance of the sun.

Gideon gently pulled Zevran into a hug after a moment of laying in silence together, holding him against his chest like a precious treasure that he'd never let go. "I haven't said this yet, Zevran, but I-"

A nimble hand shot up from the embrace, covering his mouth before he could state his sentiments, "Are you sure you wish to say such a thing? We could quite possibly both die within the hour, mi amor. Saying that shall make it..." the words he was saying seemed to taste bitter to the elf, "impossible to lose one another. I couldn't let you die, nor me."

Gideon smiled, and it was a bittersweet expression, "You think I could lose you with ease now? After everything? I am afraid I'm already attached. I'm not letting you die. So let me be honest. Please, Zevran."

The Antivan paused, worrying at his lip for a moment before smiling a bittersweet smile of his own, and shaking his head, "Very well, You are a very hard man to deny, you know. Something I can attest to for many things."

The Warden looked fondly at his elf for a moment, before reclaiming his stolen words, "Zevran...I love you. I know I do. I've said it in not so many words before, though...if we don't die at Denerim, and if-"

"-when-" Zevran interupted, adding uncharateristic optimism to his lover's words.

"-when we stop this Blight, no one will want to accept it. I have renounced my title for my Grey Warden duties. However many will not see that. I am to them the teyrn of Highever if my brother d..." he took a halting breath before proceeding, "...never returned. I plan to return regardless to give my family the burial of honor they deserve. Many will question why an elf, and a foreign one at that, accompanies me."

"You think I would follow you there?" his tone and face were unreadable, worsened by the darkness.

"Wouldn't you?" Gideon said, as if it was the most obvious fact in Ferelden, and Zevran made no sound or movement to deny it, "But whatever they say...I wont care. To me, I'm just Gideon, the Grey Warden, and you are Zevran, the man I love."

"And I thought it was I who'd a way with words. That puts any poetry or bedroom sonnets to shame, mi amor," he said with a slow shake of his head.

"Mi amor," Giedon sounded out the phrase slowly, "You've called me that before. What does it mean?"

"It essentially..." he searched for an answer, racking his mind for the least embarassing combination of words, "reaffirms what you said. As in... me too."

The elf stretched his arms around Gideon's torso, hands clasped behind his back. He shifted the thin blankets with his movement, but made no motion to fix it, "It is still...difficult to admit how important you are you to me. That I can lo-" he halted himself, and Gideon did not try to finish the word, "care for someone so deeply after Rinna." He said her name gingerly as if it would burn him.

"Love doesn't make much sense. Sometimes it hurts. You rarely expect it. Maker, I swore to my brother for nearly six years that I would never love. He was assuming I hadn't met the right woman."

Zevran's lips curled into a smile at the secret knowledge of the type of bedmate his Warden preferred, "Well, you've proven him right, even if he missed a few...details."

Gideon laughed, a tender and quiet thing, appreciative of his company, "I guess I have. He'd laugh. 'I always knew it'd be up to me to produce heirs. Me and my wi-'," His words stopped, a lump formed in his throat. The images of his sister-in-law and young nephew sprawled on the floor and covered in blood rushed in to his mind and he couldn't find it in himself to speak.

Zevran's eyebrows raised in concern, "She did not survive, did she? His wife?"

"Nor his son...he was just a boy of eight. I was always the 'fun' one, and he'd beg me to teach him swordplay when his parents were away. I never did, for I feared his mother's wrath more than that of my brother or father, but sometimes I would allow him to watch me pratice. 'To pass the time', I would always say. He looked so enthused those days. He dreamt of glorious battles and murdering darkspawn," The human's teeth grinded and he he clenched his fists in the sheets, "Yet he died at the hands of a soldier who murdered an innocent mother and child!"

In the landscape of his mind, he could see his brother's wife standing in front of her son, dagger in hand, her whole body shaking, "Unlike my mother, she had been frail, and never very apt at fighting. But she would stand in defense of her son, until the blade hired by Rendon Howe came down upon her, then the child she was so desperate to protect. They died together, only to be found by me and mother far too late."

The Warden's whole shoke with rage, the unquellable kind that could not be sated by vegeance. Gideon had slain Howe himself, one blade in his gut, the other in his heart. Zevran had assured this. He knew how to manipulate a battle how he wanted it, and he allowed no one near the man save for the Grey Warden. The man deserved that at least.

Despite having avenged his family, and promising his father's spirit at he Urn that he would let go, the sorrow, which ran deep into his blood, down to his very soul, refused to leave his body. If Fergus was dead, then he had no family. Nowhere to return save an empty castle full of lives he failed to save, people who he abandoned to become a Grey Warden.

It was Zevran's turn to caress the other's cheek, gently shushing him and cooing softly. "Shhhhh, my dearest Warden. What is in the past stays in the past. Letting your heart stay in the past and heavy with regret, prevents you from moving forward.  We need you at your best. I need you at your best."

Gideon nodded slowly, "What right have I to complain? You have no family to mourn, and you...have lost someone very dear to yourself. I bemoan my loss of a life in a posh castle, yet you have been beaten and worse."

"Suffering is not something you can compare to another's, Gideon," the elf said firmly, "I had no famliy since I was very young. I have had years to cope. As for my lost dear one...yes, that wound still festers. But here I have you,'" he pressed the other's large hand against his heart, "And you help treat that. Your sorrows are fresh, but months ago. The wounds on your heart shall burn and sting for years to come. But as I need your help, let me help you."

"You are very convincing, Zev. If you weren't, I suppose you wouldn't even be here right now."

"And I am the better for it, mi amor."

The speaking stopped then, the weight of their words compressing them onto the earth they lay on. Everyone had suffered. Many died. There had been so much loss for them to reach this point, to be so near the end of their quest. So many good people lost for the greater good.

Gideon felt guilt, yet not guilty. He was charged with ending the Blight, and end the Blight he shall. He felt, deep down, that if one person survived in Ferelden, that he had succeeded, and the thought churned his stomach like a raging sea. When had he become so cynical?

"You will save us all," Zevran's words cut through he silence as efficently as his dagger, "You must. I know you, and I know you can't just let innocents die."

"You'd be surprised," he said, his voice soft, making his whole person appear small.

"You have such thoughts now because you are tired. Not physically. You are tired of fightng. Of making everyone's decisions for them. You think 'If I could stop this damned Blight, then I don't care who dies!'."

The human would have laughed at the accurate impression of his voice if he had room in his heart for laughter.

"Yet the moment you step on that battlefield, _the moment_ you see a darkspawn raise it's blade down on an innocent citizen of Ferelden, you wont think that. You'll think 'I must save them! I must!' You'll drop whatever you're doing and rush to their aide," the elf smiled fondly, leaning up to press a kiss right below the Warden's chin, "I know you, and do not tell me you'll do any different. Because you will not."

Gideon snuggled against his lover, "You do know me well. It's frightening how well, actually. You could still kill me if you wanted. I'd probably let you too."

"I love to laugh, but that is a joke I do not appreciate, my Warden."

"I know you wont. I may be a bit too trusting, but I'm not so foolish as to let an assassin into my bed."

Zevran gave a toothy grin, "Repeatedly. And in various states of dress."

Gideon's smile matched his, "Most preferably without anything on...Maybe I am foolish."

They shared a private laugh, and they returned to silence once again, yet this time the atmosphere was warm and comfortable, like a warm blanket embracing them. Gideon released a long surpressed yawn, one that had been held back for what seemed like weeks.

"Thank, you Zevran..." he whispered, no longer able to keep his voice above one, "I lov..."

His voice dropped off, and was replaced with soft even breathing, and the soft snores that accompany a thing nose.  It was Zevran's turn to observe his Warden, who slept more peacefully than he most likely had in months. The man had the weight of the country, and perhaps even the continent, on his shoulders. People had sensed something great in him and had deferred to him command of every army in Ferelden, and he little choice but to accept. Yet with all that pressure he still found it in himself to do little kindnesses. Defeating bandits harassing villagers, giving dwarven beggars ten silvers minimum, and taking on assassins who tried to kill him for kindness sake.

Zevran felt sleep pull at him as well, knowing his Warden rested easy. They had only one night to sleep, but that he gave his _amor_ one night's rest was enough for him.•

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I lost it at the end, but otherwise I'm rather proud of it.


End file.
